by Mark B Frost
“Is that what caused that tremor last week?”
“What? No. Probably not. What?”
“Forget it. You mentioned that some of these combinations could amplify the effects of the interference, right? Since the Vantriskans have adapted to the modified currents, perhaps we could use that to our advantage. Level the playing field out, make it so that no one’s magic works properly.”
“I went down that path.” Kinguin went once more to his bookshelf, throwing two more books across the desk. “Here are six spells that would have that effect under any of the twenty-seven conditions. There’s still no consistent way to cast them. The spells don’t have a radius large enough that they could be cast outside, in known currents, and still have an effect on Vantrisk. Each spell would need twenty-seven variations written. And once you choose one of those one hundred and sixty-two spells to cast, you’re in a fresh unknown state, and it’ll be at least a week before the currents return to their previous unknown state and you can try again. Additionally, keep in mind that I am not guaranteeing that my twenty-seven scenarios are the only ones. If for some reason the Vantriskans have discovered an ancient scripting language that I’m not privy too, or I’ve been fed bad information from the people who have seen it, then this entire exercise, even theoretically, is moot.”
“There must be some remedy, some method that we can use to at least make an impact in the war. You’re the finest mind that our nation has. I need you to give me something.”
“You sound like Leprue,” Kinguin answered sharply. “You people are simply not listening to me. I will speak slowly this time—this cannot be done. I cannot work without data!”
“I understand your difficulties. Honestly, I do. There’s a reason that you were asked to do this, instead of commissioning the Arcanum’s normal research terms. I know that it’s a long shot, and anything that we try might involves substantial risk. But this isn’t just a science experiment, this isn’t purely theoretical. We’re trying to win a war.”
“Yes, of course. The old soldier’s refrain. But like it or not, you’re in my domain now. Solutions aren’t always simple here. You can’t beat this thing by walking up to it and punching it.”
Atheme leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin. “What if I could?”
Kinguin gave a flustered sigh. “Well then purple rainbow underpants. How am I supposed to respond to that?”
“If you’ve got some time, I’d like to show you something.”
The mage raised an eyebrow. “I suppose some sunlight might be nice. Give me a moment to tidy up my affairs before I head out.”
* * * * *
A little over an hour later, the two Grand Councilors stood outside of the Daemon’s cell. The prisoner was his usual taciturn self, standing quietly and looking back and forth to his visitors.
Kinguin was the first to break the silence. “Who is this? I wasn’t aware of anyone being held in my old cell.”
“This is Abaddon Daemon. He’s a friend of mine. Isn’t that right, Abaddon?”
“Acquaintance,” the man responded.
Atheme snapped and gave a smile. “I’ll take that. At least he didn’t say enemy. We’re making progress.”
“You should have asked me before using this cell, Atheme. What if I had needed it?”
“You mean, what if you had been bringing a dragon into the city? Is that something you do often?”
Kinguin ruffled his shoulders. “No.”
“Nothing to worry about, then. Now please, have a look.” He motioned forward to the rune wall itself. Abaddon watched suspiciously as the newcomer approached, but gave no objection.
The old herald scanned the structure, noting the same inconsistencies Atheme had previously. “This structure is showing rapid degradation. Normally I would attribute this manner of decay with centuries of exposure to poor or soured ether currents, but that’s clearly impossible here. What is this?”
“Abaddon, show him what you showed me,” Atheme requested with a grin.
The man moved in an instant, blasting across the floor of the cell and slamming his fist into the wall directly on the other side of Kinguin’s face. The mage leaped back with a roar, falling onto his back and pointing up with his Staff of the Magi, muttering an incantation so rapidly it could not be discerned. Instantly the entire hallway erupted into a wall of flames, and Atheme was blown into a nearby cell as an explosion reverberated through the old prison.
Even Abaddon had been knocked to the ground by the force of Kinguin’s reprisal, and everyone remained silent for nearly a minute while the prison continued to rock on its foundation. Once it became clear that the old structure was not going to collapse, they stood and began dusting themselves off.
“Now was that really necessary?” Kinguin snapped as he retrieved his fedora from the ground and began to delicately tend to it.
Atheme grinned sheepishly. “Not in the slightest.”
“Such an attention-seeking display,” Abaddon remarked coldly, “and yet you still did not tear down the wall. I stand unimpressed.”
“This structure is well protected against magic. It is designed to hold more dangerous things than you.”
“Are you certain? You have not yet seen how dangerous I am.”
Atheme stepped in between the two, using the opportunity to partially repair the rune structure. “I’ll come back this evening for our usual lively conversation, and fix this further. For now, Kinguin, I think we can take our leave.”
Once they had moved up one level, Kinguin motioned to a couple of nearby chairs. “May we stop here? I need a moment to think.”
“Certainly,” Atheme answered with a nod. The two had a seat, and he waited patiently for Kinguin to gather himself. He suspected the mage had been frightened more than he cared to admit.
After a minute or so, Atheme began to move the conversation forward. “I need your take on him. You saw what he’s doing to your cell. Could the same thing work in Vantrisk? Could he interfere with their rune structure in the same manner?”
“You think he’s a mystic?” Kinguin asked in response.
“Is there some other possibility?”
“He could be a Saint. Or a god.”
Atheme thought for a moment, then shook his head. “If he was a god, surely he would’ve escaped by now. I considered the possibility of a Saint, but I’ve never heard of one not knowing who they are. Abaddon has distinct memories of growing up as a child in the wilderness to the north. I don’t have any reason, at this time, to believe he’s lying. I have to assume he’s human.”
“And if he’s human, he would have to be a mystic. Otherwise he could not interact with rune structures directly.”
“What do you know about them?”
“As with most matters, I know as much as there is to know. According to legend, mystics are unevolved humans.”
“Unevolved? That seems counter-intuitive. Aren’t they stronger than normal humans?”
“Again, this is only legend, so I can’t attest to its validity. But the story goes that during the Dragon Wars, when humans were on the cusp of winning the war Elzaniru, the King of Dragons, intervened. He stripped humans of their powers and weakened their race, so that the dragons could not be subjugated. But every so often, a human is born that breaks free of these shackles. They represent our race as we once were, in the days of old. Mystics have a natural affinity with all types of magic, and can use it instinctively. They have no need for heraldry or rune structures, ether itself responds to their thoughts and shapes to fit their desires. A charmed life, I should say. Legends aside, in reality mystics are so rare that I’ve never seen one. It’s said that the Cainites had a higher rate of mystic births, but I’ve always assumed that to be propaganda. I had written the whole matter off as a myth.”
“I’m willing to entertain other explanations, if you’ve got any.”
The herald shook his head. “Atheme, there’s more worth noting here. If the information on mysti
cs that I’ve studied is to be believed, though their powers are instinctive, they have their own rules and limitations. A mystic should be able to disassemble an offending rune structure by willing it to dissipate, but it would require direct communion with the structure and careful discipline. Your Abaddon is demonstrating none of those things. He does not seem to be aware of his own mysticism.”
“I theorized that myself some time ago. I decided that, in the name of holding him prisoner, it was probably not best to start educating him on his abilities.”
“A prudent choice, but not quite my point. He has no conscious control of his mystic abilities, and yet he’s still managing to damage my rune structure. This would suggest that he has a dramatically higher level of immersion with the currents than any normal mystic. Even Saints must understand their powers to access them, but Abaddon is doing so by accident. It’s as though the currents want to obey him.”
“And this concerns you?”
“It should concern us all! If he starts to understand his powers, he could be capable of terrifying strength. We’re talking dragon or even lich levels of magical prowess here. In a man who, as near as I can tell, is a mere ruffian.”
“If the day comes that we must kill him, then I’ll take responsibility for that. I’ll do what it takes to keep a step ahead of him. But you haven’t answered my question. Vantrisk? Can he do it?”
Kinguin sat in silent contemplation for a moment. “Were he a normal mystic, I would argue that, like any mage, his own understanding of the currents would hinder him. But raw as he is, operating on nothing but instinct, his spirit may adapt to the altered currents in Vantrisk without him realizing it. He may actually be suitable for your purpose. But can you trust him?”
Atheme rubbed his hands together apprehensively. “I wish I could give a confident answer. I’ve spent a good deal of time with Abaddon now. Every day for over a month, we’ve spent our evenings together. I would like to say I’ve learned a good deal about him, but the truth is he’s very reserved. Still, I consider myself a strong judge of character, and I see him as a good man, albeit a slightly broken one. He’s spent most of his life homeless, and has no family or even allies. He’d never admit it aloud, but I believe the truth is that he’s lonely. The only way he’s ever known to interact with people is through fighting, so he uses battle as a panacea against his loneliness. He’s only here because he was looking for the next fight, and claims that when he escapes he will fight me again. He makes regular threats on my life, though they are said in a calm tone, clear of emotion or rage.”
“All the more reason to take them seriously,” Kinguin cautioned.
Atheme nodded. “I assure you, having fought the man, I do. But I believe that if I can offer him another fight, a better opportunity, that he’ll take it. Fighting is all he knows, but I believe he’d rather fight for a cause than for arbitrary reasons. If I can give him that cause, he may even go so far as to consider me a friend. But first I have to test his character. It’s going to be a risk either way, but I have to try to test him here before trusting him with something as important as Vantrisk.”
The conversation went quiet. Atheme was unaccustomed to silence from Kinguin—the man was infamous for how difficult it could be to get him to stop talking. He knew there had to be a reason, and waited patiently for the Lord Archmagus to complete his thought. “Daemon?” he said after some time. “As in the Daemon?” Atheme nodded, but stayed quiet. “I was under the impression you had been told to dispose of him.”
“If you go back and read the order, I was told to ‘make him disappear’. Considering you’re only just now learning of his continued existence, I would say I’ve done my duty.”
“An unspoken deal between you and Leprue, then. The two of you are increasingly in cahoots these days, are you not?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Atheme replied in a monotone voice.
“Don’t you? For a moment, pretend I’m not talking and ignore what you hear. If there is a new regime coming, I want in. Contrary to what you may believe, I do not stand with the old guard. I have always considered myself a man of progress. I worked with Calvin, and I would work with you as well.”
Atheme leaned forward and stared at the floor. This was not the conversation he had been hoping to have. “You have not worked well with Leprue. You have often stood by Gaspar and Terledor.”
“I represent the Arcanum, do I not? My duty as a Grand Councilor is not to vote how I feel, but to vote on matters as they are of interest to the Arcanum itself. I take that duty very seriously, but do not misconstrue that with who I am as a man.”
“I’m still not sure what you’re implying, Kinguin. I am a man who is dedicated to my country.”
“Dedication can take many forms. Leprue has never held the power that Calvin did. He doesn’t have the grit to bark down those who would oppose and manipulate him. He tries to play the game their way, to keep everyone happy and hold all of the secrets in a nice little box. But men like us see the result. Corruption is out of hand. The Dictus is on a continuous power grab. They have gone from thinking of themselves as an arm of the government to being the full body. They tolerate the Grand Council, but it’s a matter of time before they start making moves to dissolve us. The Dictus is too bloated, too bureaucratic, and too inefficient to run this country. Leprue doesn’t have the power, or the will, to do anything about it.
“And because of this,” he continued, “he’s moving fast to get out of the way. I admire him for that, at least. He recognizes his own uselessness. He intends to move you to Lord Councilor. In doing so, he’ll slide into the Eldram Emeritus spot, honorarily reserved for retiring Lords. Jora slides off the council, then. You, as incoming Lord Councilor, will be able to fill your former position with whomever you choose. The Council often affords new Lords that right, to establish a sense of solidarity. Now you, Leprue, and this incoming Councilor will comprise a new bloc of power. You just need one more on your side, and you’ll have the pieces necessary to force all votes to a tie, into the hands of Lord Councilor. In effect, you will become a dictator, like the Vesoviuses of old.”
“This is a bold conspiracy that you’re proposing.”
“I am not trying to stop you. On the contrary, I would stand with you. If you are looking for your fourth, look no further. No one wants to tear down the Dictus’ encroachment more than I. I admit, I cannot swear to always vote as you like, for in some scenarios I am bound to represent the Arcanum. But certainly in the beginning, as you rebuild the country to run the way you envision it, I will make certain your path is not barred.”
“I must admit, you’ve got more of a mind for politics than I’ve been led to believe.”
“If you are to underestimate any of my traits, it should never be my mind.”
Atheme turned and leaned in, lowering his voice. “I am continuing with the assumption that this is a conversation that never happened.” Kinguin nodded his agreement. “Leprue does not stand with me. Leprue is a dear friend of mine, and I hold him in high regard, but he is more a part of the problem than you assume. He is a politician first, and thinks like one. He plays the game as well as anyone—not because he’s forced to, but because it’s who he is. The increased pressure on Leprue to raise me to Lord Councilor sooner is coming from several people in high places that I’m working with, either through favors or my own manipulations. Even so, once I am Lord Councilor I cannot rely on Leprue’s vote. I am not even certain that he will stay on at all, so I must assume that his position will still be held by Jora. Aveni is my third.”
“The Cardinal? Atheme, he and I are very old friends, and I know him well. He’s not fit for these sorts of back-alley dealings. He’s too honest, too open.”
“Perhaps. But he stands strongly on his belief in the work Calvin did for our city, and doesn’t want to see it undone in his lifetime. Actually, you’d be surprised how much of it was his idea. But you’re right in one thing, I still need my fourth. I wouldn’t have
chosen you. To be honest, I still have reservations about it. But since you’ve managed to piece it together on your own, my options are to start making plans to get rid of you, or bring you into my trust. As I suspect you’d be a dangerous enemy, that only leaves the one choice. If you stand by me, as you say, then I will stand by you. But no more secrets between us. If you’re coming into my trust, that means you bring everything with you. What you know, I need to know. I’ll give you the same respect.”
“If that’s how you feel, then there’s something I should tell you now.” Atheme felt his throat tighten, anxious for what might be said next. “I do keep dragons in that cell from time to time.”
The younger councilor smiled and gave a wink, then the two stood and headed once more for the prison’s exit. “Before you head back to the tower,” he added, “I need another favor. There’s a little spell I need you to teach me.”
Chapter 6.
Resignation
His work with Kinguin complete, Atheme took a respite in his office and spent a few hours reading local trade magazines. Some of the continent’s most renowned traveling operas and plays would be in the city over the next two months, and he found himself sorely wishing he had an excuse to make time for them.
As he mulled his predicament and pulled out his personal calendar, a knock sounded at his door. “Enter,” he answered. His assistant stepped inside, but Atheme interrupted the man before he could speak. “Before I forget, I need you to find Folitri. Tell him to come at once. You’ll probably have to pay him to get his attention. Take it from my personal account, keep it off of the Council’s books.”